


First Impressions

by Neaislove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, M/M, Werefox Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:24:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neaislove/pseuds/Neaislove
Summary: Stiles had a lot of things to worry about in life and seeing Derek Hale emerge from the water looking like a mob hit gone wrong was not something he wanted to add to the list.





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Classy2Shoes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Classy2Shoes).



> For [Classy2Shoes](classy2shoes.tumblr.com).

Ten years ago Stiles Stilinski made a vision board for class that included high rise buildings, ivy leauge colleges, and an assortment of law inforcement badges. Four years ago Stiles found himself at the wrong end of a gun and a pair of teeth. Three and a half years ago Stiles made the very sound decision to run away and start living a minimalist life style while doing his damndest to avoid the very law enforcement he'd once pinned to his vision board. At the very least his childhood had prepared him to recognise "the law" in its many forms with little effort.

Stiles currently found himself on the outskirts of a town called Beacon Hills. It was bustling enough that Stiles could lose himself in a crowd but close enough to nature that he could go off grid relatively easily. He'd gotten himself a nice little cabin at the edge of a nature preserve so that he could deal with his furry little problem. After that he'd established himself around town as a harmless, possibly Canadian, oddball that looked a little ruff but was ultimately harmless. The Winter of Patchy Beard had been kind and humiliating at equal turns. Now though his growth was even, his hair was a little longer, and he was starting to fill out his basket of flannels.

Now he just needed to get a handle on fishing. Stiles shifted from foot to foot and tucked his elbows closer to his sides. He'd cast at least a dozen times now and still hadn't managed to hook anything. It was getting colder every day and it was looking like his plan to stock up on jarred fish was a bust. In the week he'd been doing this he'd only managed four fish total. The guys down at the bait shop had insisted that this was a great little spot. Stiles hadn't heard a blip in their heartbeats either. He was considering that maybe his furry problem might be sending out serious predator vibes and scaring away the fish.

He was just about to pack it in when he picked up the sound of splashing. And not the rapid splashing of an animal sprinting through water. No, this sounded like a person wading through. He tensed instinctively and looked towards the sound only to see Beacon Hills' own Derek Hale. Stiles tensed even further, his fingers nearly cramping around his pole. Hale was sopping wet, covered in mud, and entirely naked. His usually stern face was looking more severe than ever. Water trailed down his matted hair and over his filthy chest in a way that Stiles would normally drool over.

Today Hale didn't look like he'd stepped off a photoshoot but rather out of a torture dungeon. He looked like the last survivor of a forest based slasher. He looked like he'd just survived a mob hit.

Just as the thought crossed his mind Hale looked up at him. Even at this distance he looked menacing. Stiles instinctively bowed his head and focused back on his fishing pole. He listened carefully to the sounds of Hale making his way to shore and then into the woods. Since moving to Beacon Hills Stiles had only seen Derek Hale twice. He'd heard about him plenty though. The Hale family was money. Old money. Money with a capital M. No one knew that much about them other than the fact that they owned about half the town, and a lot of property in New York.

They also owned the only other house on Preserve property. Stiles had seen it once in human form but had always given it wide berth while in his small fox body. Something about it had always screamed 'CAUTION DO NOT PROCEED!' and thus far his animal brain hadn't steered him wrong. Human Stiles always assumed the Hales were a family of organized criminals. He'd yet to see any evidence to the contrary.

But they hadn't kicked up a fuss about his little cabin or his daily strolls through the preserve so he'd firmly decided to let it go. As long as he didn't see a murder he was one hundred percent willing to believe they were rich on oil or something. Stiles sighed and reeled in his line. He hadn't caught anything today and he didn't feel like leaving himself out in the open anymore. He packed up his pitiful bait box, flung his pole over his shoulder, and started the trek back to his cabin.

That night Stiles couldn't get the Hale family out of his head. Specifically Derek and Stiles was man enough to admit it maybe had something to do with his resting bitch face and effortless model look. He was a big boy now and he could admit to petty attraction. Derek Hale was a prize of a man. In looks at least. The jury was out on whether or not he was a mob enforcer. He certainly had the muscle for it.

In the morning Stiles' mind was still on Derek Hale. There was an annoying itch in the back of his head demanding he scope out the house in the woods. The more rational side of himself insisted this was a very bad idea and went to chop wood instead. It would hopefully tire him out and with the nights getting colder and colder Stiles didn't see the harm in a surplus. Since the bite he'd found himself at odds with his brain. His standard ADHD seemed to have gone a little haywire. He was more prone to hyper-fixation then fits of mania. On the plus side he didn't need to reread instructions twenty times anymore. He could follow through with most simple tasks by muscle memory alone. But God help him if he caught scent of something interesting.

He hoped desperately that chopping wood would keep him from running off to play detective. So he shuffled outside with a thermos of coffee and picked his ax up from his porch. The week before he'd taken down two trees. After chopping them into more manageable logs Stiles had called it. Now those pieces were piled messily around the back of his cabin and Stiles finds himself wishing he'd been a little less of a bum about it.

"Next winter. I'll do it right next winter." Stiles set his thermos a safe distance away and pulled up a few logs to get himself started. He kept a careful ear on the pile in case it fell apart but otherwise buried himself in the repetitive chopping motions. It was easy to zone of the rest of the world out this way. His focus narrowed down the swinging motion of his arms and the thunk and crack of each new log. Soon enough the cold drained out of him and he started to sweat through his flannel shirt.

He managed nearly the whole pile before his senses went haywire, something primal deep inside of him screaming 'PREDATOR'. He let his ax fall into the stump he was using as his base and took a calming breath, scenting the air. The hair of the back of his neck prickled and his body was thrumming on high alert aware of every little thing around him from the moist puffs of air he was breathing into his chest to the crinkling of leaves around him as the wind gently shuffled them around.

Stiles knew someone was behind him, standing at the edge of what he considered his lawn. He tightened his grip on the ax with one hand and tipped his head to better hear the stranger. "Can I help you?" He pulled the ax from the stump and turned to face Derek Hale. He was dressed this time, clean and wearing a stylish leather jacket. Stiles felt equally like he should be bearing sharp teeth and running fast and far. Fight or flight at its finest. Stiles couldn't pin down why though. Sure the Hales might be criminals but he'd dealt with plenty of those as a desperate teen runaway. None of them made him fell like a spooked animal. What was Derek Hale hiding behind his pretty cheekbones?

"You never came to see us."

"Huh?"

Derek tipped his head to the side gesturing in the direction of his property. "You never came to see my family."

Stiles flexed his fingers on the handle of his ax. "Sorry? Was I suppose to? This cabin isn't technically on the preserve. The realator says some old guy owns it; lives down in Miami now."

"That's not what I meant."

Stiles huffed out an annoyed breath and rolled his shoulders. "Then you'll have to tell me what you mean because I'm confused."

"It's common courtesy to introduce yourself to the local pack if you plan on living this close. We left you alone because we thought you were passing through. But you're not, are you?" Derek is staring him down like he's a particularly dense dumbass and Stiles can't bring himself to be offended. Pack. Derek Hale said pack.

"Are you...", Stiles pointed at him with his ax, "are you guys...not human?" He almost whispers it, afraid of how it sounds out loud. Thus far Stiles hasn't voiced anything about himself. Not since he had a conversation at gun point with a blond nutjob. He'd been too afraid to ask questions or look into finding others like him.

Derek takes a step forward. It feels aggressive and Stiles scrambles back in instinct. He's back to gripping his ax like a weapon but he has no intention to fight. His brain is fully in run mode now. He's rooted in place by sheer force of will. "Why are you here?"

"I live here. I moved into this cabin, like people do when there's a reasonably priced place available."

Derek starts stalking forward, scowl set firmly in place. He looks like a predator zeroing in on its kill. Stiles backs up until he hits his house and swings his ax up over his shoulder like he has a shot at cutting this man down. Derek yanks it out of his hands and tosses it aside. Then he leans in close, sniffing at Stiles' neck and hairline.

"Dude..."

"You're new."

"Uh?" Against him Derek is still, obviously still smelling him but not making moves to do anything further. Stiles wiggles and shimmy's until he's able to step to the side and away from Derek. "I've been here almost a year now. I came up just after winter so..." Stiles lets the thought trail away.

Derek's face pinches, he takes a deep breath and rolls his eyes up to the sky like he's telling himself to be patient. "Newly bitten. You're not born like me."

"Oh...yeah. Four years ago about." Stiles shrugs his shoulders like it's no big deal but his heart is racing. If this guy is a shifter there's no way he doesn't hear it but Stiles can't help himself. Until the bite feigning nonchalance was his go to.

Derek turns to him, steps back into his personal space. "And where's your Alpha?"

"Alpha? The thing that bit me? Dead. A hunter was tracking it. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"And this hunter? He just let you go?" Derek raises a brow and the cocky look on his face tells Stiles this could go south fast.

"I knew his daughter. We were friends at school." Stiles licked his lips and started jiggling his leg. He didn't like to think about the Argents or about the dual life they obviously had. The implications use to keep him up at night. Stiles let out a breathy chuckle. "He uh...he made me breakfast once. Gave me rides home from school. We hugged once." Stiles shrugs and grins at Derek. He ignores the tears stinging his eyes and stubbornly refuses to let them fall. There were times, early on, when Stiles wondered if Chris wasn't crueler for letting him go.

The stare at each other for a few seconds. Stiles focuses on the sound of the leaves skittering arcross his lawn and the birds nesting on his roof. In front of him Derek is stoic. He's staring Stiles down with an unreadable face. Stiles isn't afraid anymore, not really. Derek is like him in a way. The first he's ever met. Even if this doesn't end well at least he knows he's not alone. There's hope.

Derek breaks their staring contest to look off into the woods, in the direction of his house. "Come to my house tomorrow. Around noon." Derek shoves his hands in his pockets and starts walking away, narrowly missing bumping Stiles' shoulder. "We'll answer your questions then."

Stiles listens to him leave until his steps are indistinguishable under the wind and general wildlife. Only then does he turn to look at his pile of split logs. They're scattered everywhere as Stiles had just let them be where they fell rather than stack them up as he went. It would be smart to stack them now while there was a lot of day left. He stared down the mess he'd made for a while before chuffing and tossing the ax into the mess as well and heading inside.

The rest of his day is a waste really. Stiles' mind is racing at the idea of another shifter being so close. A whole family of them, a pack. Chris had explained a few basics to him before yelling at him to run. Stiles had held on to every little tidbit of their brief conversation but refused to look online for anything else. He tried to stick to actual books in case someone was trying to track him. Sure, some nights he thought he was being way too paranoid but most nights he felt justified. He started out as an underage runaway with his DNA spread all over a gruesome crimescene. At the mercy of a very famous hunter.

He spent the day waffling back and forth about what he should do. Which meant he packed half his clothes and almost shaved three times. But he also cleaned up his canning jars and aired out a couple of Sherpa throws. He wanted to stay in Beacon Hills, he really did. His animal hind brain just wasn't so sure. The back of his head kept buzzing, sending warning signals through his body 'PREDATOR, NOT SAFE. RUN. RUN. RUN.'

In the end he fell asleep on the couch under his little pile of throw blankets after eating ravioli's straight from the pop can. It smelled even worse in the morning. Which drove him to make a good breakfast. The entire time he tended the bacon in its pan he thought to himself that this could be his last good meal in a while. Life on the run didn't lend itself to good homecooked meals. Stiles piled his plate high with crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and fluffy misshapen pancakes. Just because he could, he covered his entire plate with syrup and put a splash in his coffee too instead of sugar.

Once he's done he washes his dishes, drying them even, before putting them away. Stiles walks through his little cabin, running his fingers across every surface. The animal part of him is delighted to be leaving his scent in every inch of wood. The human part of him is sad, wistful. If the meeting with the Hale's goes poorly he may never come back. And who knows when he'll feel safe enough to settle down again?

Only when his home is thoroughly drenched in his scent does Stiles pull on a heavy coat and head outside. He stands at the edge of his porch and looks out into the woods to where he know's the Hale house to be. Derek hadn't given him the impression that this would be a painless visit. Were's or not they still seemed like criminals. "Okay Stiles. You can do this. You're just going to have lunch with the neighbors. The scary, half animal, possible mob boss neighbors. No big deal." He takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders, and steps off the porch.

For trips into town Stiles has a beat up brown crown royal. It's a horrible car. The suspension sucks, the back seat is nearly torn to shreds, it whines like a dying animal if you go over 30 mph but it never got reported stolen. The owners were probably glad to be rid of it. Stiles had stolen it two states over and drove it like a saint to make sure he never got pulled over. He tried to use it sparingly though. So it stayed put and Stiles walked to the Hale's. He felt like it was more appropriate this way, to meet other's like him on foot and by himself.

When he makes it to the clearing in front of the Hale house his whole body is thrumming with tension. He can practically feel his fur standing up on end. He wants to shift and bare his pointy little teeth to say he won't be messed with. Stiles tries to shrug off the sensation as he draws closer. The closer he gets the easier it is to hear that it won't be a small lunch. The house is teeming with heartbeats. His own is going a mile a minute no matter how hard he tries to calm it down.

Taking a deep breath to center himself, Stiles knocks on the door. It's a weird thing to feel, knowing that every living thing in that house is focused on the door. On him. He listens carefully to the footsteps coming closer. They sound different than Derek's, more graceful. There's a swoosh of fabric with each step.

A woman opens the door. She's smiling and already holding her arms out for a hug. Stiles is taken aback. He'd been expecting a Black Widow type not a beautifully aging housewife. Before he can think to move she's hugging him close, tipping his head against his shoulder like he's a child. "Welcome to our home. Derek told me all about you."

"Uh?" Stiles holds his hands stiffly in a very 'don't shoot' gesture. He's not sure what the etiquette is on touching people in other packs. He'd rather not have his fingers chewed off. 

The woman tuts at him and squeezes a little tighter.

"You shouldn't be all alone. You poor thing you must be going crazy with questions." She pulls back, just a touch, with her hands still holding his sides. She looks at him like a mother sizing up a child who's been away at school. "We'll talk about all that after we eat." She steps back and gestures into her house. "Come inside, it's all ready. You can sit with Derek."

Stiles coughs into his hand so he doesn't have to speak and gingerly steps inside. It's warm and nothing like he expected. Instead of cold modern designs and weapons in plain sight it looks more like a Better Homes and Gardens spread, after a minor earthquake. The furniture is plush and covered in mismatched blankets. The coffee table is beautifully carved from cherrywood but it's covered in stuffed animals and coloring books. The entertainment center is holding haphazard piles of games and DVD's. From what Stiles can see of the stairs there's a rich maroon runner that's rucked up in places like a dog's been tugging on it.

The pieces are all there, the bare bones of a gorgeous house, but it's covered in stuff. Loads of stuff like a daycare center. Stiles jerks as a hand comes to the small of his back but the woman just laughs it off. "I'm sorry about the mess. We cleaned up this morning for you but...", she rolls her eyes and waves her free hand, "children."

"Uh yeah. No problem. It's...I don't mind." Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets and lets himself be steered into the dining room. It's much cleaner than the living room even though the table is groaning under the weight of the food laid out on it. Stiles stops short, leaning back into the woman's hand. The whole pack is there staring at him like he's about to take his place on one of the platters. There's two empty seats, one at the head, and one next to Derek.

The woman gently guides him to his seat, scratching her nails through his hair and Derek's as she heads to her own. "Stiles I'd like you to meet my pack. My name is Talia. I'm the Alpha and this is my family." She takes her seat at the head and smiles fondly over the table, clearly happy to see them all sitting in one place. Stiles looks around the table, face slack. No one is giving off particularly hostile vibes. They seem interested, like he's a shiny new toy, but some of them seem a little bored or embarrassed. The silence stretches on until Derek kicks him in the ankle.

Stiles jerks, nearly falling from his seat into the boy next to him but rights himself with a cough. "I'm Stiles. I don't have a pack. I didn't even know there was a pack here." He looks down at his plate, suddenly uncomfortable with this many eyes on him. "I got bitten a little while ago and I've been looking for somewhere to stay."

"Derek said a hunter let you go? He just let you run off?" It's a young woman, she's got dark hair and eyes. Probably Derek's sister by the age of her. Stiles nods sharply.

"I knew him, his daughter. I didn't know about werewolves or werefoxes. I was just out for a walk. I guess he felt sorry for me."

"Or maybe he thought you'd slip up." The man who speaks has sharp blue eyes and slicked back hair. He makes Stiles' metaphorical hackles rise. "Maybe he was expecting a bit of a hunt."

Stiles fights the urge to rise to the bait. The fox in his mind is snapping about like an angry puppy. "Maybe. I wouldn't know because I took his advice and ran." He'd like to think that Chris felt some remorse, that letting him go that night really was a mercy. An act of kindness to his daughter's goofy friend. It quiets down after he speaks and Talia starts passing around plates to break up the tension. There are bowls of stripped and shredded meat passing every which way while everyone assembles their fajitas. Stiles helps himself to a heaping side of rice and seasoned black beans. He mixes it all together beside his folded tortilla while he waits for the chicken to get to him.

He happily takes the bowl of shredded meat from Derek, the smell of food momentarily over taking any lingering nerves. He scoops in a healthy amount then passes the bowl along. He takes two strips of steak from the next bowl just because but passes along the pork without looking. He hasn't had food like this in a while. He tends to stick to quick, barely seasoned meals. Without a thought Stiles tucks in, taking a massive bite that has his cheeks bulging out like a chipmunks. He groans around the food and shimmy's in his seat as he chews. It's good. Way better than he thought he'd be getting.

He feels a little kick to his ankle and looks over at Derek. The look of shocked, borderline disgust has Stiles chewing a little slower. His face heats up as he casts a quick glance over the table. Almost everyone is staring at him. Stiles' is suddenly aware of his heavy, scraggly beard and unruly hair. He knows he looks like a recently cleaned hobo. It makes it easier for him to distance himself from life before. But now it feels a little absurd. He really should have shaved. Stiles swallows the massive bite in his mouth and coughs to clear his throat.

"Sorry. It's very good Mrs. Hale. I don't cook like this anymore." He looks down at his plate and doesn't let his eyes wander. Beside him he feels Derek go back to eating so he does as well, this time at a slower pace. Around him conversations start here and there until it seems like it's just noise. His ears perk here and there but he doesn't join in. When his plate is nearly empty Derek bumps him with his elbow, then points to the bowl of chicken. "No thanks." Derek shrugs and helps himself to some more rice.

"So Stiles, I'm sure you have questions. Why don't you go upstairs and clean up. Then we can talk. I'll try to answer as best I can. Alright?"

"Sure. Thank you Mrs. Hale."

"Talia."

"Uh...yeah, thank you Talia." Stiles neatens up his plate and silverware to keep his hands busy until Derek gets up.

"I'll take you." It sounds genuine but his face is pinched like he has a particularly bad tooth ache. Stiles accepts the invitation regardless, if nothing else it gets him away from the table. Better the enemy you know and all that. The general look and feel of the house makes him feel like his mob boss idea was a little stupid. But the thick, heady scent of wolves keeps the fox inside of him skittish.

Derek leads him upstairs, stepping over the crumpled runner like it's an everyday thing. It's quieter upstairs and Stiles feels like he can breathe a little easier. He follows quietly behind Derek until they get to the bathroom. "You looked overwhelmed."  
Stiles snorts. "A little."

Derek lets out a deep breath through his nose and nods. "I'm sorry." Stiles watches the clench of his jaw as he says it and the serious look in his eyes. "I didn't mean to scare you. Well, I did actually. I thought you were going to cause problems." Derek steps closer to him, so close Stiles can make out the pretty flecks of color in his eyes. "I didn't realize you were scared until I got close." Derek runs his hand across the side of Stiles' neck. His hand is warm and soft. The little fox thats been yapping and twitching all afternoon settles. Derek's thumb comes up and brushes through his thick beard. Stiles blinks slowly.

"Can I shave?"

"What?" The moment's broken. Derek steps back and frowns at him.

"I," Stiles coughs and starts scratching his beard, "I wanted to know if I could borrow a razor?"

"Sure." Derek heads into the bathroom and rummages under the sink until he pulls out a razor. He passes it over then digs out a small pair of scissors. "I'll be downstairs."

"Yeah." Stiles holds the razor to his chest but doesn't back away while Derek passes. His arm brushes across him and Stiles savors the passing warmth. He waits until he's sure Derek is downstairs to start cutting away tufts of beard. Scent doesn't cling to metal and plastic very well but Stiles can tell the trimmers are Derek's. It sends a little thrill through him to be using it. Since he's been on the run he hasn't really allowed himself to think about guys. He hasn't stopped masturbating but actually thinking about someone in particular? Not in a while. Derek is hot. And he has the added bonus of being a shifter too. No awkward glowy eyes to explain during sex.

When the hair is gone Stiles keeps his eyes on the sink, wetting washcloth and rubbing it across his face. Once the cloth cools down Stiles finally looks up at himself again. His hair is still long, curling gently around his ears. His eyes have bags under them. But he looks clean. He looks young. Stiles takes a deep breath and starts cleaning up his mess.  
It's weird, stepping out of the bathroom. He knows everyone downstairs must have heard the razor and he can't really explain why he needed to do it. He just felt ashamed maybe. Of himself and how different he is. He wrings his fingers together the whole time he heads down the stairs. To his relief no one watches him come down even though he knows they know. Everyone is scattered around in groups. The kids are at the table again, coloring. Stiles tips his head to listen for Talia or Derek because he can't see either of them.

"This way Stiles."

Stiles perks his ears and hears another 'this way'. He casts one last look over at the kids before turning past the stairs, down the hall, and into an office. There's bookshelves built into the walls and stained wingback chairs scattered around. The desk hugs the wall in an L shape. Talia is sitting there in a soft, suede rolling chair. Derek is beside her in mustard yellow wingback.

"Have a seat. Just pick one. They're clean I swear but my children never could keep food off furniture." Talia casts a playful scowl at Derek who looks off into a corner like he's been chastised for this a thousand times over. Stiles grabs a faded pink chair and drags it over. "You look better."

"Thanks." Stiles takes a deep breath and starts drumming his fingers on his knees. "I don't really know where to start."

"Just ask. The first thing that comes to mind." Talia smiles and waves her hand encouragingly.

There's a million things he wants to ask. Why is he a fox when Chris said he was a wolf? How do hunters operate? What's a pack structure like? If there are born shifters what are the odds he'll pass it on? Instead he asks this: "Why were you naked in the woods?"

Derek purses his lips and slouches down in his chair like he'll be able to slide away from the look his mother is giving him. "Again? Derek we've talked about this."

"There was no one around Mom."

"Stiles was around."

"I thought he knew."

Talia sighs and pushes her hand onto the side of Derek's face. He looks embarrassed so whatever it was wasn't malicious. "Some werewolves can achieve a full shift. It's usually a born werewolf. I can do it and my two oldest can as well. Derek," she looks over him with a wry smile, "likes to shift and catch fish. Like the little pup he is." She ends this sentence with a pinch to his cheek. He allows it even though his face is burning red.

Stiles can't help but laugh. Once he starts he can't seem to stop. There's still a lot he needs to know. There's still a lot of scary stuff out there and in his future but this is good. He can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief. He ran right into another pack of shifters. Good people who all lived together and sat at a table for meals. People who let their moms pinch their cheeks and liked to play around in the water. He laughs until he can't breathe. The he sits back up and rubs his hands across his face until he can breathe properly again.

"Sorry. M'sorry. I just..."

Talia leans forward and places her hand on his knee. "I understand. We were born into this. The bite is a gift to us but for others...I know that things must have been really hard for you. I've only just met you but you've kept to yourself. You haven't caused any problems and you seem to have excellent control. I'd be happy to welcome you into my home, and my pack, whenever you'd like." She pats his knee again before sitting back in her chair. Beside her Derek's face is still pink but he looks serious. Stiles finds himself staring at him, maybe for longer than appropriate.

Talia graciously doesn't comment and they get down to the questions. Stiles starts slow because he doesn't know where to start but soon enough his questions are running into one another until he's not really getting full answers at all. Talia and Derek are taking it in stride, answering as quickly as they can and not getting frustrated when his mind jumps track in the middle. The next time he finds himself pausing Talia stands and rubs her hands across his shoulders. Stiles looks up at her and feels a pang of longing. She doesn't look anything like Melissa but her expression is dead on.

"I think we'll stop there for today. You can come back any time but I think you should process what we've talked about already before trying to absorb more." She ruffles his hair for good measure and leaves. Then it's just him and Derek.

"You looked like a failed mob hit." As soon as it's out of his mouth he regrets it. He scrunches up his face and slumps back in his chair. Of all the things to say.

"Really?" Derek snorts kicks lightly at Stiles' foot. "I thought you were a serial killer."

Stiles starts laughing again, softly at first, then full belly laughs as Derek joins in with him. It's hard to reconsile this happy looking Derek with the severe looking man he's seen around town. When the laughter tappers out Stiles leans forward, elbows on his knees, and starts rubbing his face again. It's weird after so long. He feels like he's making a fresh start.

"It suits you. The shave." Derek is leaning forward too. Stiles can only descibe his eyes as intense. And pretty, very pretty. Here in this office, surrounded by the smell of happiness and flowers Stiles feels brave enough to flirt back.

"We can't all grow them as good as you. I've gotta say, even with the resting bitch face I found myself intrigued." He chuckles and licks his lips. He wanted to say something smooth, maybe segue into a date proposition. But he's out of practice. Not that he was any good before. Derek doesn't look overly impressed but he doesn't look angry either. Stiles is willing to take that as a win. He doesn't want to go home. Not just yet, not now that he's got a chance to talk to Derek. He just doesn't know what to say to keep the conversation going. It's been a long time since he's had to do more than give pleasantries.

"You were trying to fish? The other day at the creek."

"Yeah, trying being the key word." Stiles licked his lips again and shrugged. "I was given many talents. Fishing was not one of them."

"I could teach you."

"With a pole I hope."

Derek clucks his tongue and tips his head back over the edge of the chair. His arms are crossed over his chest and Stiles savors the way his muscles bulge. He rakes his eyes over the long line of his throat and the sharp cut of his cheek.

"Actually, I wouldn't mind seeing you run around on all fours. Tell me, are you a Twilight style werewolf or more like Harry Potter? I could get behind either I just want to know how seriously I'm going to take you afterwards." Stiles laughs and shyly nudges his foot against Derek's. He can see him rolling his eyes.

So it's not a date. But Stiles isn't ready for that. Honestly he's not sure he's ready for real human interaction. The past year has been good for keeping him sane but he hasn't been social. And not even twenty-four hours ago he thought Derek was a criminal about to gut him alive. Still, it's a start. Even if this whole thing crashes and burns at the very least Stiles can say he put himself out there.

"Let's try with the pole first. I wouldn't mind seeing how you handle that." His smirk is challenging and Stiles feels a smug spark of hope. Looks like Derek's putting himself out there too.


End file.
